


affirmation | a. hamilton

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: And yet, F/M, POV Third Person Omniscient, alexander is awkward, hooo boy this is really old, i swore i wouldn't ever post any of my hamilton stuff, needless description, uhh, unplanned confessions?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:10:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Who would send you hate mail? Tell me their username, I'll have a word with them. No one has the right to speak to you like that -"--In which Alexander is Too Quick to Defend Your Honor and ends up Spilling the Emotional Beans.





	affirmation | a. hamilton

If there was one thing you couldn’t stand, it was flamers who hid behind anonymous messages.

     You huffed out a heavy sigh and reread the message for the fifth time. Honestly, what was it about people that compelled them to comment negatively on everything regardless of whether it was called for or not?

     “Hey, Alexander,” you mused aloud, “what’s a good word for a self-righteous jerk?”

     Your friend raised his head from where he sat bent over his notebooks. He met your eyes and blinked, one earbud dangling languidly in the air as his brain caught up to your question.

     “Cockalorum,” he replied a half-second later. “Curmudgeon. Plebeian with delusions of importance.” He seemed to realize something, and his brow furrowed. “Why are you asking?”

     “Nothin’ much, just need a good reply to some hate mail.”

     Having been completely focused on drafting the response in question, you completely missed the widening and subsequent narrowing of his brown eyes.

     “Someone sent you _hate mail_?” he asked incredulously, and just like that he was off in rapidly forming ideas of retribution. “Who was it? What was their username? What did they tell you? I’ll have a word with them, Y/N, I–”

     “Alex!” you broke in, unable to keep the grin out of your voice. Honestly, he was too adorable for his own good sometimes. “It was _anonymous._ I have no idea who sent it, and anyway, it wasn’t that bad! Just super general stuff, you know? ‘You have no talent, no one likes your work, you’re stupid, no man will ever want you…’ Stuff like that. Very clever.”

     Your words had been lighthearted, said to pacify your loudmouthed spitfire of a friend a bit.

     So of course, it only riled him up even further.

     Alexander clenched his fists and squared his jaw, looking as indignant as if he himself had been the one insulted and not you.

     He seemed to gather himself together much in the way a lion would before roaring, and you tried to interject to spare the world his wrath.

     “Alex, it’s fine–”

     “That is _not_ true,” he ground out. “It’s _not_ fine. No one has the _right_ to speak to you like that. You’re one of the smartest, strongest people I know, Y/N, and I love _everything_ you do. And you know what, you’re breathtakingly gorgeous and _every_ time you smile I feel _weak_ and–”

     He dropped his pen, suddenly, without warning, and brought a hand up to his mouth to silence himself. His fiery certainty fizzled out for a moment and he avoided your eyes as if he had divulged something sacred, secret, forbidden.

     His heart thudded.

     Your heart stopped.

     _(He isn’t. He didn’t, he wouldn’t he doesn’t.)_

_(…Does he?)_

     The seconds ticked by painfully slowly, and what could have been regret rolled off Alexander in waves. You held your breath and he released his, slowly.

     Were you imagining the red staining his cheeks, his neck?

     Alexander cleared his throat.

     “And… I want you, Y/N,” he finished softly, feeling stupid and small and sickeningly hopeful. “ _I_ want you.”

     _(He does, he does, doesn’t he?)_

     “Alexander,” you said cautiously. “Alexander.”

     He glanced up, stubbornly, meeting your eyes despite the dizzying rush of heat and embarrassment and light, fluttering sentiments rising up in his throat and chest.

     “You mean that,” you asked quietly, slowly, “don’t you?”

     He wanted to wax poetic about you, the wonder he felt at seeing you look so vulnerable, so trusting.

     (But… he wasn’t sure he could stomach a sonnet recital quite in this moment.)

     “Of course I do.”

     Something in you cracked at its core, and you thought, vaguely, that you loved him entirely. It was almost unpleasant, the aching in your chest at his complete honesty; he was close now, a couple feet away.

     “Oh,” you murmured. “I’m so glad.”

     Alexander leaned closer, despite himself, then shifted so that the space between the two of you closed, almost trembling on a heady mixture of euphoria and lovesickness and relief of the highest degree (because _you? You felt the same way? Why and how and when and how long had he gone without this feeling?_ ). You leaned up slightly and he (wordsmith, human thesaurus, the whole speech-and-debate curriculum crammed into a small package) was lost for words, and he was full of inspiration, and _you_ –

     You kissed him.


End file.
